


In Orbit

by M_Monoceros



Series: Event Horizon [1]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Angst, Drug Use, Explicit Sexual Content, Hate Sex, Hux and Kylo hate each other, Hux is the worst, Kylo is pretty terrible too, Kylux - Freeform, M/M, Pre-Star Wars: The Force Awakens, Rape/Non-con Elements, Unconscious Groping, improper use of the force, seriously there is no fluff here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-17
Updated: 2016-01-17
Packaged: 2018-05-13 04:02:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5693968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/M_Monoceros/pseuds/M_Monoceros
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Whenever the pain of existence becomes too much to bear, Kylo escapes the only way he knows how. Ever the opportunist, Hux takes advantage of his weakness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This started as a character/relationship study and spiraled from there—Kylo and Hux both seem so obsessed with power and strength, which makes for a pretty unhealthy dynamic... I have a hard time imagining them being anything but terrible and abusive to one another, and I wanted to explore that a little bit. 
> 
> I may be trash, but at least I had fun. :) 
> 
> **Please heed warnings and tags.** First chapter is just background.
> 
> **Note:** Revised as of 02/21/16 to correct some space vocabulary.

More than anything, Kylo Ren hated weakness. His parents were weak, and he hated them for it—his pathetic, frightened father, who had deserted him as soon as he had the chance; his coward of a mother, who had squandered her birthright—the power of the Force—and who even now denied the truth of who he had become. In a futile attempt to save Kylo she had sent him to train with the weakest of them all: Luke Skywalker. 

Oh, Luke was a skilled Jedi, but he wasted his abilities, wallowing in uncertainty and indecision while his power withered. Kylo Ren’s hatred of Luke Skywalker was its own beast—it lay in the darkest corner of his mind, patiently coiled. The day would soon come when Kylo would face his former master, and then he would strike and destroy the pathetic fool once and for all. 

Still, more than he hated weakness in others, he hated it in himself. Fear and doubt tainted his every breath, gnawing at his gut like a cancer—he could feel the corrosion, a horrible twisting pain that only cut sharper and deeper with his every attempt to anesthetize it. Anger was fruitful; rage spurred him forward, upward, and away from the Light. But fear and doubt paralyzed him, and if he allowed those feelings to take hold any further they would render him as impotent as Skywalker. Yet, to deny his emotions—to numb them as he so desperately wished—would also mean denying the anger that drove him. 

Oh, there were ways of silencing such feelings, first developed by the Empire and still used by the First Order. Indeed, they were crucial in the conditioning of stormtroopers, who must never question themselves or their masters. In order to commit the cruelties that they did—necessary acts, but abhorrent to the soul all the same—they must feel nothing but satisfaction in their obedience. Simulation exposure during childhood was largely successful, but other measures were sometimes necessary to correct the chemical balance of a subject’s brain and mould them into the perfect soldier. 

The compound most often used for this purpose was based on an ancient formula. It calmed the mind, explained the First Order’s most preeminent conditioning expert—a man named Soma—upon Kylo’s tour of the laboratories. He had personally perfected the drug, he claimed, and at the proper dosage it levelled the subject’s mood while stimulating the pleasure centres of the brain, creating an overall sense of contentment and wellbeing. As a result, a soldier treated with the compound would virtually cease to experience fear or pain for as long as they received a steady dosage.

Later, Snoke sensed Kylo’s fixation on the drug.

“Useful for weak-willed foot soldiers, perhaps,” he growled, “but unspeakably foolish for a Master of the Force.” 

Kylo’s cheeks burned with shame and he said nothing—indeed, he thought no more of the matter for a long time. And why such a thing was so foolish he only discovered much later. 

Because, of course, he could not keep the thought of blissful numbness from his mind forever. To transcend his torment was the ultimate goal. But (and admitting it to himself was yet another torture) he was not yet strong enough. Some nights he woke with such a pain in his chest—a real, physical ache, as if an assassin had slipped a knife between his ribs—that all he could think of was how to make it stop. 

It was on one of these nights that he ordered the first phial. It came to his room quickly, unquestioned. Perhaps Snoke would know; perhaps, thanks to his infrequent forays into Kylo’s thoughts, he already did. But by then Kylo’s mind had already so unravelled that he couldn’t dwell on the possibility for long. 

He glanced at the neatly written note next to the phial and the pneumatic dispenser—dosage instructions, he supposed—but he couldn’t focus his eyes well enough to read it. He filled the dispenser to the brim, brought it to his neck, and pressed the button; it emptied into his bloodstream with a hiss and a cold pinch. Kylo didn’t have to wait long before he began to feel lighter—a kind of tingling buoyancy that pulsed out from his chest to the tips of his fingers, as if his blood had turned to helium. The knot in his gut began to loosen, and he lay back on his bed, staring at the ceiling. 

The warmth of the drug chased out the tension in his limbs, relaxing his muscles and soothing every fibre of his being. After a while he could no longer feel the bed beneath him, and the ceiling began to seem quite far away. He closed his eyes. 

He didn’t feel numb—he felt… what was it? Certainly not joyful, but content, at the least. Peaceful. It was the first time he could ever remember feeling so at peace. He dredged up the memory of his mother’s face—not Kylo Ren’s mother, for Kylo Ren had no such thing, but the mother of his former self—which usually made his chest ache, but now caused him only a vague stirring of unease. His thoughts felt slippery, and the face promptly dissolved into nothingness. 

Yet there was another channel that had been muted: try as he might, he could not grasp the certain solid power of the Force. It was isolating—the life forms that he knew to be all around him were muffled: no longer clear points of bright energy, but dull, flickering afterimages. With great effort Kylo opened his eyes and fixed them on the pneumatic dispenser, lying innocently on the table across the room. He raised his hand, pulling it to him with his mind, but—no—it didn’t even twitch. 

He lay back again. Perhaps this revelation would distress him more when the compound’s effects wore off; perhaps then he would realize how foolish this venture was. But right now he could not summon even the faintest twinge of concern. Closing his eyes once more, he smiled, and sank into the deepest, most restful sleep he had enjoyed in years.

*

After that, Kylo used the compound regularly, though never when he knew his powers would be needed, and never when he was in the midst of training. But whenever the pain of being became too great to bear, he sent for another phial. It was comforting to know that there was an escape—if only temporary.

If Snoke knew anything about it, he did not seem to care.


	2. Chapter 2

Hux could feel the insolent wretch staring from across the room—picking him apart, drilling into him with smug self-righteousness.

Yet Hux ignored him. The briefing lasted over an hour, but Hux ignored him so thoroughly that when he at last adjourned the council he allowed himself one triumphant glare straight into Kylo Ren’s stupid masked face. The mask glared back with haughty superiority.

Just as Kylo Ren hated weakness, General Hux loathed disorder. Of course, to him, the two were one in the same—true strength could only be found in discipline and control. Ren had raw power, this was true, but he had no mastery of himself, and it was endlessly infuriating that such a man occupied a position even remotely equal to his own.

After the briefing, Hux stayed behind to gather his notes. He watched as Kylo Ren swept out of the room purposefully. Where could he possibly be going with such intent? Hux knew for a fact that Ren had nothing to do but wait around like everyone else—though their informants had been working nonstop to infiltrate the ranks of the Resistance, they were hardly close to unearthing any usable information. And while preparation on Starkiller Base was fully underway, the weapon wouldn’t be complete for several months—until then, the First Order had established a temporary base on the Finalizer, orbiting the planet while they busied themselves with preparations. The last two lunar cycles had been rather tedious, really.

Hux narrowed his eyes. Perhaps it was only because he hated the man so much, but he had always been keenly aware of Ren’s comings and goings—of course, it didn’t help that the Finalizer, while comfortable, made for rather close quarters. Lately Hux couldn’t help but notice Ren taking more and more prolonged absences that he was quite sure had nothing to do with Supreme Leader Snoke’s orders.

He dwelled on the thought while he ate in his room, and continued to dwell on it as he worked his way through the neat piles of approvals and memos that towered over his desk. By the time the curfew bell sounded, signalling that all off-duty personnel must return to their sleeping quarters, Hux’s mind was too full of building plans and gravitational calculations and star charts (and Kylo Ren’s mysteriously busy schedule) to even entertain the thought of sleep. Instead, he rummaged in the back of his closet until he found a dusty bottle of Old Janx Spirit he had been saving for a special occasion. He poured himself a small glass and took a sip, wincing at the raw burn.

As Hux nursed the glass of Janx he glared out the viewport and onto the haunting panorama of the half-constructed Starkiller Base. Who did Kylo Ren think he was, exactly? What gave him the right to ignore protocol whenever he so desired? More than once Hux had seen him wandering the corridors after curfew, and far too many times he had been forced to do damage control—literal, collateral damage control—after Ren’s childish tantrums. He finished his drink, poured another, and opened an interactive map of the ship on his personal console. Though he told himself there was no specific motive behind the action, his eyes immediately settled on Kylo Ren’s private quarters.

Yes, there was the blinking light of Ren’s tracker, as still as could be. He must be asleep—how dull. Hux sighed and drained the rest of his glass in one go. That was the dangerous thing about Old Janx Spirit, he thought, peering with a frown at the empty tumbler: the more you drank, the easier it went down. Hux was halfway through his third glass when a light flashed on the communication panel in front of him.

 _“Incoming,”_ a cool artificial voice advised. The tumbler sloshed as he set it hastily on the desk and buttoned his collar before accepting the call. The video output activated, but he couldn’t see who was on the other side.

“This is Hux,” he said to the blank screen.

“Good evening, General,” rasped a familiar voice. Hux sat up straighter, spine tingling.

“Supreme Leader?” he asked, trying his best to keep any anxiousness from his voice. The Janx made it a bit easier.

“I require Kylo Ren’s presence immediately,” was the response. “I would like you to deliver my summons to him in person.”

“Yes, Supreme Leader,” Hux replied quickly, mind racing. Why could Snoke possibly be ordering him to perform such a task? Unless… but no, Kylo Ren, ignoring a summons from Snoke? It was almost too good to be true.

“Ensure he does not waste any more of my time tonight,” the disembodied voice said, and the call ended with a click.

Perhaps the Janx had been a poor choice, Hux reflected as he strode down the corridor not five minutes later. His vision was just beginning to slide out of focus, and he was long past the point of sleepy intoxication that he had been aiming for—rather, he felt practically giddy. Of course, that was much more likely due to his current task: the mere thought of reprimanding Kylo Ren on Snoke’s orders was almost enough to make him weep with joy.

Ren’s quarters weren’t far from Hux’s rooms, and soon he was standing outside the sleek metal door. He pushed the call button and waited, heart pounding—he wanted to savour the moment, when it came, so that he could always remember how it felt to put the insufferable Ren so thoroughly in his place. Hux hoped he would wake him—perhaps he would answer bare-faced, and Hux could see his expression when he relayed Snoke’s displeasure. He pushed the call button again.

No response—how infuriating. No matter; this way he could have the pleasure of barging in uninvited. Hux hesitated for a second, mindful of Ren’s uncontrollable temper, before he swiped his identification card and entered the override code to unlock the door. It slid open with a smooth hiss.

The room was dark; the window screen had been activated, blocking the brightness of the stars. The only light came from the furiously flashing buttons on Ren’s communication panel.

“Ren,” Hux barked into the blackness. No answer. As his eyes adjusted, he could dimly make out the shadow of figure at the small dining table in the corner of the room. “ _Ren,_ ” he called again, louder, but the figure was still. He groped along the wall for the environmental controls.

When the lights came on to reveal Kylo Ren unmasked and half-dressed, slumped face down at the table in front of him, Hux experienced a strange succession of emotions. First, he was concerned—not for Ren’s wellbeing, per se, but about what the consequences might be for him if Ren was injured or ill. Second, he was annoyed, because the man’s current state made it difficult to send him to Snoke as promptly as the Supreme Leader desired. However, as he approached to assess the situation, any trepidation he might have held was replaced with glee.

There, on the table, sat a completely empty phial of Doctor Soma’s primary conditioning compound; he recognized the label at once. Oh, Hux knew it well: he had spent a good deal of his time in the lower ranks an assistant in the behavioural centre. Hux inspected the glass tube—it was completely empty.

So _this_ was what the great Kylo Ren used to ease the torturous chaos of his existence? A drug-induced coma? The giddiness that had been simmering in Hux’s chest boiled over, and he laughed aloud.

“Pathetic,” he spat at the lifeless figure. The effects were easy to reverse: all it would take was one dose of the counter compound—he could order it straight to the room in less than five minutes. His hand was already on his portable comm when Ren stirred, turning his face to the ceiling before settling back with a deep sigh. Hux studied the way Ren’s black hair fell back from his forehead, framing the strangely angular face that he had so rarely laid eyes on. Ren was always so hostile and guarded, yet now there was something quite disarming about his vacant expression.

Hux’s eyes traced the outline of Ren’s softly parted lips, moving down along his jaw and neck and the sharp angle of his collar bone. He was wearing nothing but a loose sleeveless tunic and standard issue black underwear. It was the most exposed—the most vulnerable—that Hux had ever seen him.

“Ren,” he said, and snapped his fingers loudly next to the other man’s ear. Nothing.

Yes, the Old Janx Spirit had definitely gone to his head, Hux thought as he brought a hand to Ren’s temple. He let it hover there for only a moment before he made contact, grabbing a rough fistful of hair. His vision swam and his pulse quickened, images of unspeakable things flashing before his eyes. How easy it would be…

He practically leapt back when Ren jerked away and blearily swatted over his shoulder in annoyance. The action unbalanced him, and Hux watched with his heart in his throat as Ren slid sideways off the chair and sprawled onto the floor—after one feeble attempt to pull himself upright he lay back heavily, fast asleep once more.

Hux’s heart was still racing—from fear, partly, but also from the thrill of his stolen touch. Cautiously he drew closer, until he was practically on top of the unconscious man. He glanced at the empty phial on the table. If it had been full when Ren took it, there was no danger of his waking any time soon.

All thoughts of Snoke and his summons had left Hux’s mind as he stood over the Ren’s motionless body, swaying with the lingering intoxication of three glasses of Janx and the feeling of soft black hair between his fingers. He sunk to one knee, practically straddling the other man, and the feeling of Ren’s body beneath him sent Hux’s mind reeling.

His hand shook as he reached for the hem of Ren’s tunic and drew it upward, exposing his abdomen and part of his chest. Before he could stop himself Hux’s fingers were already pressed greedily to the warm flesh—he froze, breathless, but Kylo Ren did not stir. He moved his hand, tracing the bones of Ren’s ribs, smoothing his fingers over the soft hollow below his sternum, and watching his face for any sign of wakefulness.

The warmth of Kylo Ren’s body resonated in Hux’s groin with unbearable heat; he brought one hand to the bulge in his pants, massaging himself through the material, while the other crept down, down—he paused, fingers on Ren’s waistband, but the need to go further was too overwhelming. Already teetering on the edge of release, he followed the coarse hair on Ren’s stomach past the fabric—over, under, lower—until he grasped the soft heat of the other man’s cock.

Hux came with a twitch and a gasp, leaning back on his heels as the aftershocks rolled over him. After a few seconds he stood, face hot, and looked down with dawning horror at the unconscious Kylo Ren. Struggling to suppress the rising panic in his stomach, Hux pressed a series of buttons on his comm. There was a soft click, and a bored voice answered.

“Sick bay.”

“I require a full standard-sized phial of compound S-07 with a pneumatic dispenser immediately,” Hux ordered, trying to steady the tremor in his voice.

“To your present location, sir?” answered the attendant.

“Yes. Right away.”

“Understood. Expect a droid in 2.4 minutes.” The comm clicked off, and the silence of Kylo Ren’s chambers was deafening.

Hux looked down at his pants, where a damp stain was already soaking through the fabric. He swore under his breath and shot another glance at Ren, as if he would suddenly awake and unleash upon him the wrath that Hux deserved. Yet… Ren would never know what he had done. Hux stood a little taller at the thought, and felt a strange triumph swell in his chest.

“Pathetic,” he said for the second time, an ugly smile twitching across his face. Ren had made himself weak and proven his inferiority yet again. Hux would never expose himself like that; he would never give anyone the opportunity to defile him in such a way.

The soft ping of the call button startled Hux from his musings, and he hastened to answer the door and accept the small medical case from the delivery droid outside.

He filled the pneumatic dispenser to the brim and pulled Ren into a sitting position, propping him up against the legs of the chair. Hux pressed the dispenser to his neck and allowed himself one more hungry glance over Ren’s limp body—pausing to rearrange his tunic so that it covered him fully—before he emptied the cylinder into Ren’s veins and stood back. Hux clasped his hands in front of himself, hiding the only evidence of his transgression.

Kylo Ren woke with a gasp. At the sight of Hux he jerked to his feet, face twisted in confusion and annoyance. Hux made to speak, but was cut short when Ren turned and vomited a mess of bile onto the floor.

“Supreme Leader Snoke requires your presence immediately,” Hux said when Ren had finished his little display. “And I imagine he will not be particularly thrilled at having to go through _me_ to reach you.”

“Get out,” Ren growled, and the panic in his voice was endlessly satisfying.

“A conditioning compound? _Really?”_ Hux asked. “You know that was five times what we’d give a noncompliant? Far too much to be _useful_ —”

“GET OUT,” Ren roared, and before Hux knew what was happening he had been thrown backward through the open door of Ren’s chambers and onto the cold metal floor of the corridor beyond. The door slid shut behind him.

He sat up, panting, and tried to straighten his uniform. The damp spot in his pants had grown cold, chafing unpleasantly with every movement.

*

Later, in his own quarters, Hux poured himself another glass of Old Janx Spirit and reflected on the night’s adventure. Kylo Ren would regain favour with Snoke in no time, of course; nothing he did ever seemed to tarnish his brilliant halo in the Supreme Leader’s eyes. No—the real, _lasting_ victory of the evening was locked away in Hux’s mind: the sight of Kylo Ren, vulnerable, defenceless, and completely at his mercy… the feeling of his soft hair in Hux’s fingers… the delicate warmth of his body…

The memory alone—his secret now—was enough to make Hux painfully hard, and it another glass of Janx and two more twitching orgasms before he finally fell into a drunken slumber at his desk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, Hux is the worst. 
> 
> Second of all, I was way too excited when I found out Old Janx Spirit exists in the Star Wars universe.


	3. Chapter 3

Kylo Ren hated weakness, and there were few weaker than General Hux, who had cheated and blackmailed his way into power. That he was forced to work with the man on a regular basis (and sometimes even take orders from him) was a constant source of irritation. And, since the night Hux had found Kylo comatose in his room, numb to the Force and deaf to his master’s summons, the general’s superiority complex had grown exponentially. Although, to his credit, Hux seemed to have kept the incident to himself.

There was no hiding Kylo’s colossal idiocy from Snoke, however—when he at last appeared before his master that night, he had been rewarded with some of the worst pain he had ever experienced at Snoke’s hands. He would never debase himself by beating Kylo physically, of course, but Snoke’s incredible command of the Force made him capable of inflicting much worse forms of torture—the mere memory of that night kindled a visceral horror in Kylo’s stomach, yet he knew that he deserved no less for his stupidity.

And even after all that, the dreamless trance of the drug still called to him. When he lay awake at night, haunted by the spectres of his past, the temptation to sink once more into blissful oblivion gnawed at his chest and prickled across his skin like a rash. Even during combat drills or meditation he could barely keep such disgraceful thoughts at bay. If his master sensed the distraction, he chose not to pursue the matter. Perhaps he trusted that Kylo had learned his lesson.

Nearly a full lunar cycle later, the thought of the compound was still at the forefront of Kylo’s mind as he sat in a protocol briefing led by General Hux. Had he not been wearing his mask, it would have been difficult to maintain any semblance of interest in the proceedings. Even Hux seemed bored as he droned on and on about ventilation shafts and waste disposal procedures on Starkiller Base, his words punctuated by a great many heavy sighs and stilted pauses. Kylo wouldn’t usually bother attending a briefing like this, but after the incident last month he had been performing his duties to the First Order with renewed dedication.

The gathered officials shifted gratefully when Hux finished a particularly painful speech about the carrying capacity of Starkiller’s pneumatic delivery network. He took a seat at the table across from Kylo as another man stood and began to outline security clearance procedures.

Kylo barely noticed—as a means of sharpening his Force abilities, he had taken to occasionally probing the minds of those around him. If he was delicate enough and didn’t pry too far past his subject’s immediate thoughts, he could often perform the act without them sensing his presence. Captain Phasma, for instance, was currently mulling over a carefully choreographed single combat sequence. He watched that for a while as she tried different scenarios, restarting the loop when she thought of a new move to add. She was a skilled fighter, and Kylo thought it was a shame she didn’t often get the chance to prove herself one on one. But that was too conspicuous: as soon as the thought occurred to him, the looping soldiers in Phasma’s head fizzled away, replaced by alarm as at his presence. Phasma herself stiffened and looked at him, but said nothing, and Kylo withdrew quietly.

Across the table, Hux stared vacantly ahead, eyes glassy. Carefully, Kylo reached out with the Force—the general’s mind was idle, unprotected, and with barely a twitch of his fingers Kylo had hijacked an image of Hux, dressed in civilian clothing (that alone was ridiculous enough) with a stately husk lizard perched on his shoulder. In the daydream, he had trained the creature to accompany him everywhere, because it made him look more formidable. He had decided to name it Tarkin.

Kylo couldn’t control the derisive snort that escaped his lips, magnified by his mask’s vocalizer. Hux heard the sound at the same time that he felt the intrusion. His eyes snapped furiously to Kylo, who lingered just a moment too long in the other man’s mind—Hux’s fantasy vanished, and the image that formed in its place was projected with such force that it felt like a punch in the chest, materializing with absolute clarity: Kylo, as seen through Hux’s eyes, unconscious, on his back, an alien hand creeping down across his exposed flesh—

Hux realized his mistake almost immediately, and his eyes widened in horror. But it was too late—Kylo Ren rose stiffly and swept from the room without a word.

The security expert had fallen silent, and the whole room looked to Hux, uncertain of how to proceed. He said nothing—his pale skin had turned a faint shade of green, and he gripped his chair with white knuckles.

*

Kylo Ren gazed out the viewport of the ship and onto the planet below. Starkiller was the largest weapon of its kind, and it was nearly complete: in under three lunar cycles it would begin charging for its first fantastic show of force against the Republic. Still, Kylo rarely took the time to actually _look_ at the thing—he couldn’t remember ever stopping for even a moment to appreciate the sheer majesty of its design. Then again, his rooms were on the opposite side of the ship, and the view from his own viewport was filled with nothing but empty space and twinkling, far off stars. Here, Starkiller shone with a brilliant intensity that stung his eyes, unaccustomed as he was to looking on such radiance without the protection of his mask. But the glowing panorama quieted his mind. Now, after distilling the swirling mire of his thoughts, he was left with a clear, cold understanding.

Behind him, the door hissed open, and Hux was pinned against the far wall before he even registered the presence of the intruder in his quarters. From across the room Kylo held him there, compressing every inch of his body with the power of the Force. The only light came from Starkiller, and Hux was cast into shadow as Kylo advanced upon him. Even in the darkness, Kylo could see Hux’s face begin to turn an ugly shade of purple, his eyes bloodshot and bulging.

“Did I startle you, General?” Kylo asked matter-of-factly. Hux wheezed. “I took the liberty of disabling my tracker.”

He released his hold and Hux fell into a heap on the floor. They were close now, and Kylo knelt down in a crouch to look the other man in the eye. He raised a hand and tore into Hux’s mind, sifting through thoughts and memories, and then he was seeing _that night_ through Hux’s eyes: the Old Janx Spirit; Snoke’s orders; himself, slumped over the table… lying on the floor…

“Would Snoke punish me if I killed you?” he mused when it was over. Hux said nothing—he was panting hard, pressed flat against the wall as if to get away. “Or do you think he would understand that I was only exterminating a pest? That’s what you are,” Kylo said, surveying the other man with disgust. “An opportunistic parasite. You think I haven’t heard the rumours?”

Hux opened his mouth to speak, but stopped short when Kylo raised his hand once more. He pushed again, harder, letting his anger project new images into the general’s mind: Hux, mouth foaming and body limp as Kylo choked the life from him; Hux, bleeding and broken, torn limb from limb by Kylo’s lightsaber… As his rage swelled, the impressions shifted: Hux in Kylo’s place, stripped naked and unconscious; on his knees before Kylo, begging for mercy; unbuckling Kylo’s belt and taking him in his mouth—

Kylo broke away from the vision then, but the phantasm lingered: the thought of such domination set his nerves on fire, and though he had meant to strike terror into Hux’s heart, the other man’s eyes now filled with a lurid hunger. Kylo stood, chest heaving.

“Please,” Hux whispered, and slowly scrambled to his knees, extending his hands in supplication. Heat erupted in Kylo’s chest—he reached down and seized a fistful of Hux’s hair, wrenching his head back as far as it would go.

“What was that?” he spat, and Hux winced.

“Please, I didn’t… I couldn’t—forgive me—”

Kylo let go and Hux lurched forward. The air around them was heavy, and the blood pounding in Kylo’s ears almost drowned out the pitiful sound of the other man’s ragged breath. “You know what I want,” Kylo said softly, and Hux looked up with an expression of mingled horror and yes, _excitement,_ that sent a jolt of anticipation coursing through him. Hux didn’t look away as he pulled himself upright, reaching with unsteady hands for Kylo’s belt.

When Kylo felt Hux’s mouth on him, he closed his eyes and exhaled slowly. He was still mostly soft, but warmth rushed to his groin as Hux took his cock into the back of his throat. His rhythm was rough and desperate, and Kylo matched his pace, thrusting forward as hard as he could. It was almost painful, but that wasn’t the point—he brought his hand to Hux’s head and pushed him down until the other man gagged wetly, trying to pull away for air. The sound was obscene, but it only made Kylo harder.

After a while he relaxed his grip and drew back; Hux looked up with misty eyes, panting. “You like this, don’t you,” Kylo said; a statement rather than a question, but one intended to sting. He twisted his fingers in Hux’s hair and stooped so that their faces were inches apart.

“Tell me,” Kylo said, studying the slick, foaming spittle that dripped down Hux’s chin, “how many men have you drugged and fucked? I doubt anyone would let you touch them otherwise.”

Hux’s swollen lips twitched into a smile. “And how does it feel,” he hissed breathlessly, “to know you’re no better than them?”

In an instant Kylo had flung him up against the wall using some combination of the Force and his own brute strength—it was hard to tell where one ended and the other began. He pressed his forearm to Hux’s windpipe. They were even closer this way; he could feel Hux’s hot, stuttering breath on his cheek.

“A bold question for someone in your position,” Kylo said. He seized Hux by the shoulders, turning him roughly and crushing his chest against the wall. And yes—there was the fear he was looking for: Hux whimpered as Kylo unfastened his pants and yanked them down, spreading his legs with a kick.

He seized Hux by the hips and pulled, leaning away to take in the sight of the other man so exposed—legs splayed, hands braced on the wall. Kylo brought his hand to his mouth and spat, smearing the saliva down the length of his cock. With still-slick fingers he reached between Hux’s legs, pressing and probing the damp flesh until he heard a sharp gasp.

“Fuck you,” Hux spat through clenched teeth, writhing at Kylo’s touch, his whole body tense and shivering. Kylo brought a hand up under the front of Hux’s jacket to the spot where his heart battered so violently against the walls of his chest. He laughed.

“How does it feel, General?” he asked in Hux’s ear, guiding his cock to the other man’s soft opening. He held himself there for a long moment, one hand gripping Hux firmly by the hips to keep him from twisting away. The air around them thrummed with electricity that made his whole body tingle, and he let it move over and through him with a long sigh of satisfaction.

Without warning Kylo braced himself and pushed his cock inside Hux with a vicious thrust that hurt them both. Hux gave a strangled moan, but Kylo worked himself deeper, spurred on by the other man’s pain. No matter how hard Hux tried to resist him, Kylo was stronger—he hooked one arm forcefully around Hux’s throat in a stifling chokehold and quickened his pace.

When the heady mixture of pleasure and power was almost too much to bear, Kylo slowed, moving with long, purposeful strokes. He leaned in and pressed his mouth to Hux’s neck, just above the stiff collar of his jacket; his skin was sticky with cold sweat, and Kylo inhaled the smell of his body, clean and sharp and human.

Kylo was not inexperienced in matters of lust and passion: during the early years of his apprenticeship under Snoke he had travelled to many corners of the galaxy, affording him ample opportunity to explore his own desires. But, as his training became more demanding and his responsibilities to the First Order grew, such pleasure-seeking became impractical.

He hadn’t realized how hungry for it he was—not just for the warmth of another body against his own, but for the dizzying surge of strength that came when a weaker being yielded to his will. Yet, it was more than that—the energy of the Force pulsed around them both so strongly. Kylo could feel the Dark as it whispered across his skin, caressing him, filling him up, amplifying his pleasure. He wondered if Hux sensed it too.

Again Kylo reached into the other man’s mind—it was so easy like this, with the power of the Dark pressing in around them—and projected an image of Hux as he looked in that moment: dishevelled and wretched; a worthless, whimpering creature. Hux jolted in surprise at the vision.

With one last brutal shove Kylo came hard, emptying himself into Hux with a stifled groan.

He allowed himself only a moment to savour the blank calm that washed over him before he pulled away and tucked himself back into his pants. Without Kylo to hold him upright, Hux swayed and then crumpled, sinking to the floor with a soft hiss of pain, his own pants still tangled around his legs.

On his way to the door, Kylo stopped to study the star-strewn panorama a final time. “I suppose I should be grateful, General,” he said. Hux looked up blearily. From where he sat Kylo was nothing but a black, looming shadow against the sickly glow of Starkiller Base.

“I’ve struggled these past months with temptation,” Kylo continued. “But you’ve shown me what becomes of those who cannot truly master themselves. I believe I will be tempted no longer.”

And then he was gone, and Hux didn’t move for a long time. He found it difficult to hold onto any of the thoughts that flitted through his mind—after a while he simply gave up and gazed out the viewport, transfixed by the light of the slowly revolving planet far below.


	4. Chapter 4

They formed a strange kind of truce after that. Though Hux still gloated and sneered at Kylo whenever he had the chance, the pure venom that usually coloured his voice was tinged with something new—if Kylo didn’t know any better, he might even call it a grudging respect. 

And, though Kylo still refused to follow standard protocol, skipped almost every one of Hux’s briefings, and flew into a violent rage whenever he didn’t get his way, his fury was somehow calmer; more controlled. It was as if the tightly wound clockwork in his chest had been oiled and loosened, if only just a little bit. But perhaps even stranger than their professional truce were the meetings they held in private. 

One night, after wandering the halls of the ship for what seemed like hours, Kylo found himself standing before the door to Hux’s quarters. When it hissed opened for him as if by magic, Kylo entered to find Hux, eyes sleepless and unfocused, sitting at his desk with a half-empty bottle in front of him. 

“I saw you,” he said, and tapped his computer console triumphantly. Kylo picked up the bottle of Old Janx Spirit and poured himself a drink. 

Sometimes they talked—about Snoke or the First Order, or the ridiculously complicated security measures they were expected to adhere to on Starkiller Base. Sometimes, if Hux had had enough to drink and was feeling particularly sentimental, he spoke of his youth, and his days at the Imperial Academy before the collapse of the Empire. Sometimes—as strange as it seemed—they merely sat in companionable silence. 

Sometimes they fucked, and mostly it was rough and painful and breathless and left them shaking and bruised, but sometimes it was softer and sadder, and they were both gentle in spite of themselves.

As Kylo had suspected, Doctor Soma’s primary conditioning compound no longer tempted him, even when he felt weak and afraid and filled with doubt. He never spoke of such personal matters to Hux (the thought of confiding in a man like him was laughable) but it was somehow comforting to know that another person had seen him at his weakest; they had both taken something from the other, and that was its own kind of intimacy. In many ways what the had was an ugly, twisted thing—but then again, there were many ugly truths to them both.


End file.
